It was Cris Carrol who had rescued the fair equestrian.
The old hunter had perceived her danger, and, with the quickness of
thought, mastered the whole situation.
Without uttering a word, he stealthily approached the spot, until
reaching a tree, one of whose branches extended over the horse's head.
To clutch it, spring out on the projecting limb, and lift the young lady
out of the saddle, were acts performed almost instantaneously.
What followed was not so easy.
He had not counted on the feminine weakness of fainting, and, with the
dead weight of the swooning girl upon his arm, there was still a
difficulty as to his future movements. How was he to get back along the
limb?
He saw that nothing but sheer strength could accomplish it, and
accordingly exerted all he had.
With one hand grasping the branch, and the other around the unconscious
form, he made a superhuman effort, and succeeded in reaching the trunk
of the tree. Against this he supported himself until he recovered
breath and strength.
While thus resting, he was witness to the engulfing of the gallant
steed, as the snorting animal sank into the chasm below.
The old hunter heaved a sigh. He was sorry for the creature, and would
have saved it had the thing been possible.
"Wal, if it ain't too bad for a good, plucky crittur like that to die
sich a death! Confound them tarnal sink holes! They've been the
misfortun' o' many a one. Thank goodness I've saved the feminine."
The "feminine's" condition now demanded his attention, as the temporary
faintness was passing away, and she showed signs of returning animation.
With rare tact and delicacy, the old hunter, regardless of his own
fatigue, softly lowered himself and his fair burden to the ground.
Then, gently withdrawing his arm from her waist, he drew back a step or
two.
Taking of his seal-skin cap, he wiped the perspiration from his brow,
and, with the gallantry of a true gentleman, waited until she should
address him.
The young lady he had rescued was no ordinary person.
The faintness which had come upon her endured only for a short while.
Recovering consciousness, she understood at a glance, not only the
nature of the service rendered her, but also the character of the man
who had rendered it.
"Oh, sir! I'm afraid that you have run a fearful risk. I can hardly
tell you how grateful I am."
"Wal, miss, it war rayther a toughish struggle while it lasted. But,
bless ye, that's nothin' so long as it's turned out all right. If you'd
not been the plucky one you air, nothin' I could ha' done would have
helped ye. It war your own grit as much as my muscle saved ye from
fallin' into that trap."
"My horse. Where is he?"
"Yur right there, he's gone, poor crittur. I'd ha' liked to saved him,
too, for the way he behaved. That dumb crittur had more sense in him
than many a human; and it 'ud ha' done me a sight o' good to have pulled
him thro'; but it wasn't possible, nohow."
"Tell me, sir, where did you come from? I did not see you."
"Wal, I war clost by, and seed you ride right on to the danger. It war
too late to holler, for that would only ha' made things worse, an'
skeared you both; so I said nothin', but jist dropped my rifle, and made
track toarst ye. I spied the branch above you, an' speeled up to it.
The next war nothin'--only a spell o' twisting an' wrigglin'."
He did not tell her that the muscles of his arms were fearfully swollen,
and that it demanded all his power of endurance to prevent him groaning
at the intense agony he suffered.
But the young lady, with a quickness of apprehension, seemed to
understand this, too.
"Nothing, do you say? Oh! sir, it's another proof of your noble
courage. I can never show you enough gratitude. For all that, I feel
deeply grateful."
Her voice trembled with emotion--tears welled into her eyes.
Her brave heart had well endured danger, but could not contemplate,
without betraying its emotion, the self-generosity of her preserver.
"Wal," said he, in order to change the conversation, which he thought
too flattering towards himself, "what do you intend doing, now that your
horse is gone?"